


Fighting Against the Past

by PK_Cyanic



Series: Original Stories and Other Works [2]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PK_Cyanic/pseuds/PK_Cyanic
Summary: Emiliana Karilson is the adopted daughter of a wealthy family, who learns of her adoption status and abandons them, determined to live her own life. With a new name and a new objective, she actively attempts to discredit her mother and her past at every turn, no matter how many times the past seems to catch up with her.
Series: Original Stories and Other Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009095





	Fighting Against the Past

Emiliana Karilson. Her own name was her greatest enemy. It reminded her of the family she left behind, one that she never felt belonged to her. She had thought that the day her mother, through angry tears, told her that she was adopted was the best day of her life. She never discovered her original name, but to her the revelation was sweet enough. Within the hour, Emiliana had packed her scarce belongings and said her farewells to her foster family. Her mother screamed at her as she cried, her father trying to calm her down. Sometimes at night, Emiliana saw her mother staring at her much like back then, only this time she stared through her. No matter what she did, her mother’s expression did not change. Whenever she turned around to see what had her mother's attention, she would be interrupted by daybreak.

It had been seven years since her departure. Emiliana did her best to distance herself from her caretakers. The first step was to change her name. Emiliana Karilson was no more; instead, she would go by Emmie Karil. Maxwell Evans, her employer, was keen on asking her questions about her past, and her name was no exception.

“Why did you pick an alias that’s so similar to your actual name? Didn’t you want to abandon your past?”

He was a gruff man, much older than her, who regularly wore a tattered suit and tie. His place of business matched his regular attire, a run-down building in the middle of town with nothing more than a desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet. Emmie considered him the perfect influence for her. Where her parents were cautious, Maxwell was careless. They kept the residence well and tidy thanks to their servants at beck and call; she found it to be a miracle if Maxwell swept the floors. Even now, he could not hold a conversation with her unless he held a bottle of liquor in one hand and a stack of unpaid bills in the other. Emmie admired his unprofessional attitude, but delivered a scornful look at his question.

“That has nothing to do with you. I never got to pick my original name. I can make it whatever I want it.”

“I’m just saying, if someone were to connect the dots and realize it’s you, that wouldn’t be very good for either of us.”

His attempts at being a wise mentor were dulled by the alcohol he downed between every sentence. He seemed proud of his latest warning, as once he was done with his latest dose, he ferociously slammed the bottle on the wooden desk and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Emmie was surprised the desk didn’t break from the force, considering how shoddily it was made. 

“Don’t worry about that. I’m not stupid enough to get caught.”

“A lot of people have said that before you, Emmie. And many more will after you. Usually, they’re right until they’re wrong.”

“But I’m never wrong.”

She had had enough of their conversation. Maxwell was good at ticking her off, but she had no choice but to rely on him. The city knew her well, and few people would allow her to live with them without informing the Karilsons. Maxwell may be a low-life, she thought, but he was a low-life who had no intent of turning her in. He was the first person she ever felt she could trust.

She grabbed her jacket from the rack; it was a rugged black leather coat, with a hole in the pockets and along the sleeves. Originally woven with care and precision, the coat had seen more than its fair share of trouble, and was reduced to nothing more than a large rag. Emmie remembered the ornate dresses her mother would have tailored for her. Each dress was uniquely designed for her. The colors would seamlessly flow into one another, creating an intricate pattern that attracted the eyes of every party guest. She hated the attention. Her new wardrobe was much more fitting of her new life. Emiliana was the center of attention; Emmie was a shadow in the crowd. 

That night, she arrived back at her original estate. The gates rose high above the ground, cement walls adorned with the family crest and topped with sharp thorns jutting from it. She climbed the wall with ease as she had done dozens of times before, the cover of night masking her entrance as she landed within the mansion’s walls. Emmie took note of the guards that regularly patrolled the lawn, bright flashlights scanning the area. There were less guards around during her childhood, she thought to herself. But a lot of things have changed since she was a kid. Even her family, sheltered as they may be, seemed to be vulnerable to change as well. As per her routine, she darted through bushes, avoiding each of the guards as she made her way to the left side of the mansion.

It was an extravagant piece of architecture. Even when she was a child, she knew that the mansion was easily the talk of the town. Three stories of marble, with massive columns reminiscent of Greek techniques along the front porch, and dozens of windows all along its exterior. Along the outer edge of the estate stood several oak trees, as well as a rainbow of flowers. Emmie remembered planting a number of those flowers herself, waiting anxiously for them to bloom. One day, her mother came by and warned her against overwatering the plants, who had begun to drown from her care. 

“But I want to see them grow!” a young Emiliana shouted out.

“For them to grow properly, you have to give them attention, but you also have to give them time. Flowers can’t grow on their own, but they can’t be smothered, either. They just need a nudge in the right direction.”

Her mother was a refined woman, with the posture and elegance of royalty. She spoke calmly and never raised her voice to others except when Emiliana left her home. Her expression was the definition of composed, and she rarely allowed herself to show weakness. She hated the way her mother acted. On the day she said goodbye, she felt that she saw her mother’s true colors for the first time in her life. A woman who was vulnerable, who cracked at the slightest inconvenience. Her mother, once a role model, quickly became someone she wanted to distance herself from as much as she could. 

While Emmie was lost in her thoughts, she came across one particular oak tree, rooted close to the back of the house. Its branches stretched outwards in all directions, and the few leaves that still hung tightly gave the tree speckles of red and yellow. She began to climb the trunk of the tree. She had learned to do this a few months before she ran away, and her mother had scolded her for it. 

“A young lady such as yourself has no business doing something so reckless. You could be injured, or worse. And then what?”

Emiliana may have had to follow the rules of being a noble, she thought, but not Emmie. She reached the top of the tree and made her way across to a windowsill. Reaching over towards it, Emmie lifted it open and entered the hallway.

The layout was the exact same as when she first left. The paintings along the walls were just as she had remembered, as well as the locations of all of the family’s valuable jewelry, her usual destination during these nighttime visits. They never did anything for me while I was here, she thought, so it’s only fair I treat myself to what’s due to me. Before she could walk towards the basement, where the most precious diamonds were kept, she noticed a small steel box on the floor just in front of her. Having caught her interest, she picked it up and opened it. Inside was a collection of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and amethyst, numbering about two dozen. Emmie was bewildered. Who left all of this here? And why did they put so many gemstones here to begin with? 

Underneath the sparkling jewels she saw a note. It was written in her mother’s handwriting.

“I hope this will help, Emiliana. Please come home soon.”

Emmie tore up the note without hesitation. Rage bubbled inside of her, threatening to erupt into fury. How dare her mother try such an underhanded trick. She imagined her sitting by her bedside, writing the letter just before going to bed. She saw her mother’s face, a malicious smile forming as she wrote the plea to her former daughter. To Emmie, she could see this letter as nothing more than a failed attempt to catch her in the act. She refused to fall for a trick by such a conniving woman. She slammed the box shut and raised it over her head before composing herself, gently setting it back down. She looked down both ends of the hallway with suspicion. Strangely, no one was present. Why hadn’t her mother sent anyone to capture her if she knew she was coming? Emmie decided not to entertain the thought, and instead unraveled her own plan in response to her mother’s. 

She went to the basement much like she had several times before, eluding the few patrolmen that stalked the first floor. She came across the glass casing protecting an assortment of necklaces, each one priced well over a thousand dollars. She took no interest in them and continued walking, eventually reaching a large shelf of priceless gems. The number of diamonds on each shelf was enough to fund her meager lifestyle for years, she thought. But it wouldn’t be enough to spite her mother. She slowly shoved the shelf aside, struggling against its weight. Behind it was her true goal; a stainless steel safe embedded in the wall. Emmie crouched down and saw a number pad next to the door, as well as four empty digits on the screen. From memory, she inputted the password, the same one her mother had taught her a decade earlier.

“Only use this in emergencies, Emiliana,” her mother would remind her. Even now, her soothing voice rang through Emmie’s mind as she twisted the handle and opened it, finding bundles upon bundles of cash. Her eyes lit up with excitement. Now this would be a blow they can’t recover from, she thought. Her mother might be able to stomach losing some trinkets here and there, but a loss like this and she would never dare try and persuade her again. Emmie hated the thought of her mother trying to appeal to her, promising her that things would be better. She heard those same claims when she stood at the doorway to their mansion, rain pelting down behind her, her mother desperately pleading for her to stay.

“Please, Emiliana! I know what I said, but I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I lost control of myself for a second. You were always a part of this family, and you are always welcome here. I’m begging you. Please don’t leave.”

Her words shot daggers into Emiliana’s heart. She turned back, unsure of what to say or feel. For just a moment, the two looked into each other’s eyes. Her mothers were filled with desperation, reaching out towards Emiliana in one final struggle to convince her daughter. Emiliana’s, on the other hand, had opened up ever so slightly. Her mother saw the young child she longed for, the innocence she wished she could cherish forever. 

But that was not the person Emiliana was. 

It was the person her mother thought she was. The faint memory of the sweet little girl had long since faded away, replaced by someone who despised her with every fiber of her being. 

And when Emiliana turned back around, leaving without saying another word, her mother came to this realization herself and broke down on the floor. Her voice became frantic, and she screamed as loud as she could towards Emiliana’s back, unable to control herself any longer. Emiliana continued to walk, refusing to let herself turn around again.

She made her way out of the mansion the same way she entered, and avoided the watchful eye of the guards as she returned to the street, wads of cash bulging out of her coat pockets. She ran through the streets without stopping before finally reaching Maxwell’s house. Panicked, she fumbled with the keys for a moment before unlocking the door and letting herself in, shutting out the outside world. She slumped to the ground, a few dollars falling onto the floor beside her. She knew that she would win. She knew that, after tonight, her mother would never again try to appeal to her. This was, in Emmie’s mind, the last knot that tied her to her past finally being severed. And yet, despite her victory, she felt hollow. She could not tell why her biggest payout yet left her feeling so defeated. 

Emmie was struck by a wave of exhaustion, the mile she ran finally catching up to her. She changed out of her clothes and made her way to her room, which was down the hall from Maxwell. She heard him snoring loudly as she walked by. She was not excited for the hangover he would surely have the next morning, as was common when he was left alone. Emmie entered her room, fell onto the mattress, and let herself be consumed by sleep.

She dreamed of her mother that night, in much the same way she had before. However, this time her mother’s expression was different. It was cold and remorseless, a glare laced with hatred and unfamiliarity. This was the first time in Emmie’s life that she felt she looked anything like her mother. She did not speak, and she did not move. When Emmie turned around, she saw nothing behind her. She walked towards the void, much like she did back then. There was no end to the emptiness, but she continued walking. Even when all she could see was white, when her mother was a distant memory, she kept walking. It was only when she turned back around, to see her mother one last time, that she awoke from her sleep, breathing heavily and with tears in her eyes.


End file.
